


Sorry

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Makeup Sex, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Spock have a spat on the bridge and make up for it later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ritsuko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/gifts).



> A/N: As requested by Ritsuko~
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s trying, this half-shift business. But if Starfleet wants to try something new, Jim’ll try something new. He’s on a half one today, with Spock left for the remainder. Usually, in both their absence, there’s a whole separate staff to cover them. Lately, he’s just been leaving Spock in charge. It’s the logical choice. Spock’s his first officer and easily the most qualified. 

...But he’s also Jim’s boyfriend, and Jim’s not immune to the rumours. Spock legitimacy deserves every bit of his status. But life isn’t realistic like that, and it hurts both of them to be accused of favouritism. Either Spock doesn’t agree, or Spock hasn’t heard the rumours. When Jim’s shift ends, he’s already on his feet. 

Jim regretfully turns his back and informs Chekov, “Mr. Chekov, you’re in charge.” The little Russian turns around in his seat, looking simultaneously terrified and honoured, the footsteps halting abruptly behind them. 

“Me, Keptain?” Chekov repeats in clear disbelief—he’s never had command before. But he’s smart and he’s loyal, and he seems eager to always do what Jim would want, and besides, it’s only half a shift. 

He still hears Spock’s throat clear, and a minute later, he turns to find Spock centimeters from his face. “Captain, I believe that is an unwise decision.”

Jim shrugs, “He’s a good kid, and it’s just half a shift. We haven’t run into anything interesting for almost a week, anyway.”

“That does not mean a noteworthy occurrence will not occur during that shift, wherein I believe Mr. Chekov has neither the rank nor the training to handle an unexpected situation.”

Mildly irritated that Spock would challenge him like this in the middle of the bridge with everyone watching, Jim rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this, but he can’t back down just because it’s _Spock_. No one else would have this argument with him, probably because they know they wouldn’t get away with it. “How’re ensigns supposed to progress at all if we don’t give them opportunities? Obviously, if anything happens, he’ll put the ship on alert and I’ll come running, but seriously, what are the odds of that?”

Without missing a beat, Spock continues just as stubbornly, “It is not a matter of what is or is not more likely, as the very nature of space exploration is largely unknown. It is a matter of Starfleet being a ranked organization wherein ensigns do not simply move to captains—”

“No one’s making him a captain,” Jim argues, and he can see the flare in Spock’s eyes. He can also see the way Spock’s eyebrows are just a smidgen lower than usual—he’s actually annoyed about this, even if he’d never admit it. Jim’s annoyed, too. “I’m just talking about standing in for half a shift—you can’t have it every time.”

The tops of Spock’s cheeks turn a little green. “I was not referring to myself—”

“Oh, of course you were,” Jim grumbles, waving his hand dismissively. “Why would you be fighting me on this unless you were jealous?”

Spock’s eyes instantly flare, face tight, almost expressionless as usual but laden with all the little subtleties of frustration. “I was not expressing jealousy, which, I might add, is a human emotion—”

“Of which you’re completely incapable,” Jim scoffs. “Don’t pull that shit with me; we all know you’re not a robot.”

“If you are attempting to insult my Vulcan heritage by the comparison to a lifeless structure than I must suggest that perhaps you are too out of your mind to suggest an adequate replacement in the first place.”

“Oh, now I’m out of my mind because I don’t want you warming my seat all the time?” Jim’s acutely aware of everyone watching them; poor Chekov’s probably sinking into his chair. But this has gone far past that. He finally just says as much. “And also, I don’t appreciate you defying me on my bridge, _Commander Pointy_.”

Spock’s nostrils flare for a millisecond. It’s not a nickname he enjoys, and he’s extra sensitive to those references since the Vulcan incident. Understandable. But Jim doesn’t care at the moment; he just wants Spock to shut up and back down. Instead, Spock says in what on anyone else would be a snarl, “I am merely attempting to point out your illogical behaviour before you doom us all with your clear incompetence.”

“This is my ship!” Jim shouts. He thrusts his finger at the badge on his chest—he’s a _captain_ , and he is _not_ incompetent. He’s got the best damn ship in the fleet for a reason. He’s two seconds away from having his boyfriend thrown in the brig when he catches himself, growling instead, “ _I’m_ the captain, and I’m off shift, and I’m putting fucking Chekov in charge and if you don’t like that then tough shit. Stay out of my chair, you green-blooded hobgoblin!”

And Jim storms past Spock, knocking their shoulders together on the way, smirking to himself at the employment of Bones’ ever-ready insults. He half expects Spock to follow him, snapping into a complete lack of control and smothering him in equal insults and attitude—Spock can be a sassy thing under all his _logic_.

A part of Jim even wants that to happen. The aggression’s building up, and at first, he thinks he wants to shout his head off at Spock. Then he realizes he wants to shove Spock to the wall and angrily fuck him senseless, show him who’s boss. 

By the time he gets to his quarters, he wants to do both and neither, and the anger slowly begins to ebb away.

* * *

The call comes in while Jim’s pacing restlessly, rubbing at his face and wondering how he got so stupid. In retrospect, that whole thing turned way too heated, way too fast. He doesn’t know why he’s so touchy, but... Spock definitely has a way of jamming all his buttons. 

But he loves Spock, and he feels like a complete asshole for messing that up. He shouldn’t have gone into the insults. His communicator beeps in his back pocket, and he whips it out with a sullen, “Hello?”

 _“So, you finally saw the light about pointy,”_ Bones chuckles on the other side, clearly having heard about everything. Great, just what Jim needs. More rumours circulating. That’s how he got into this mess in the first place. _“If you’re ready to move on yet, I’ve got a nurse who’s somehow failed to realize you’re a complete idiot and would probably give you a shot.”_

“It’s been a couple of hours,” Jim grumbles, ignoring Bones’ subsequent laughter. “You know damn well I’m not on the market.” And he’s pretty sure he could find more than one nurse willing to sleep with him, anyway. 

When Bones finally gets over how funny he thinks he is, he says in a friendly, comforting sort of tone, _“Don’t worry about it. He needed a good dressing-down, anyway.”_

“No, he didn’t,” Jim mumbles. He ends up falling onto the couch, trying to not look at the 3D chessboard on the coffee table that he and Spock are always playing. “And now I feel like an asshole.”

_“You are an asshole. But he’s worse, so don’t worry about it.”_

Jim snorts. “And you’re the biggest asshole of all. In case you can’t tell, I’m rolling my eyes right now.” When Bones just laughs again, Jim takes a minute to think, then sighs, “Do you think Vulcans like flowers?”

_“As a fascinating display of botany to study? Like’s a strong word. As a makeup present? I guarantee you Spock won’t get it.”_

Dropping his face into his free hand, Jim rubs his forehead. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

_“I’m absolutely right. Anyway, don’t kiss up to him. It’s about time someone handed his smug ass to him.”_

Jim finds himself muttering before he can stop himself, “He’s not smug.”

There’s silence on the other end, and then Bones grumbles, _“Alright, break into his quarters and make some stupid Vulcan dish or something, and then call me when you actually break up so we can laugh about it.”_ And then he shuts his end, and Jim stares at the communicator, recognizing that Bones is trying to help but still finding it immensely unhelpful. 

Why he’s defending Spock when a few hours ago he was seething, Jim has no idea. But he ends up pushing off the couch and peeling off his gold shirt, leaving his quarters in just the black one. He passes one yeoman on the way to Spock’s quarters that he ignores (mostly because he doesn’t want to see on their face if they heard about the argument or not) and when he gets there, he overrides the lock. Spock’s quarters are configured roughly the same way as his, except a tiny bit smaller. And a lot cleaner. Jim walks right to the bedroom and fishes through the drawers, invoking boyfriend privileges that he’s not even sure he has right now. He finds a large Vulcan sweater that Spock only wears on their very infrequent shore leave, grey with a v-neck. He tugs it on, because he knows Spock likes it when Jim wears his clothes. 

And it smells like Spock, and that’s kind of soothing. Jim holds the neckline up and takes a big whiff of it, fully aware that he’s being weird. But he needs to be endearing right now, and he knows that seeing Spock in his clothes always makes him feel better. 

Then it’s straight to the kitchen, and he finds a Synthesizer chip for Plomeek soup in the drawer—one of the very few Vulcan foods Jim knows he likes. He puts in enough for two and starts getting out the place settings. Spock’ll be off soon. 

Jim’s still not sure if he’s going to say sorry or not, but he’s definitely going to offer proverbial flowers.

* * *

Dinner is a silent, awkward affair. Spock sees Jim at the table, walks right past him, comes back without the blue tunic and sits down. Jim keeps waiting for Spock to speak, but Spock is utterly emotionless. He doesn’t breathe a word, and he gives no indication of how he’s feeling. Jim does his best to follow suit. He doesn’t want to make an idiot of himself, and he doesn’t want to make things worse. He finds the soup a little bland but adequate, and he mostly stares at it while he eats. They finish at roughly the same time. Jim takes his dishes to the sink and leaves them there to be dealt with later. 

Then he heads to the door, figuring Spock will contact him when he wants to talk. Jim’s still not sure how he feels, and seeing Spock like this is... confusing. He’s not sure if he’s feeling angry again or hurt or guilty. He’s almost at the door when he hears Spock’s chair scrape back. He glances over his shoulder, and Spock’s coming towards him, asking through a struggling mask, “You are so angry with me that you do not want to stay around me?”

It takes Jim a minute. Then he snaps, “Yeah, that’s it. And I’m stealing your sweater, too.” Because that’s how mad he is. He realizes belatedly that Spock’s not fully adept in sarcasm, even if he accidentally employs it sometimes. He’s stopped just short of Jim, looking mildly... confused. 

Jim sighs and rubs his forehead again, mumbling, “No, I just want to give you space. If that’s what you need.”

Spock’s next steps happen so fast that Jim doesn’t have time to move, and suddenly he’s pinned against the door. Spock’s nuzzling into the side of his face, forcing an instinctive keening noise out of Jim’s mouth and a warm glow in his chest. It’s Spock trying to do things he likes, he knows. Jim likes contact. Likes cuddling. _Loves_ Spock nuzzling into him. Suddenly he knows Spock isn’t mad, and he’s not, either. He curls his last two fingers into his palm, running the index and middle finger, held together, up the back of Spock’s wrist. Spock shivers against him. Jim knows Spock likes to be touched like that, loves to be treated like a Vulcan. Jim runs his fingers up Spock’s arm, bunching up the black sleeve. 

Spock whispers into his ear, “I apologize.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim says back, kissing the side of Spock’s face and fingering the length of his arm. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“No.” Spock shakes his head against Jim’s, his sleek hair tickling Jim’s forehead. “I overstepped my place. I should not have questioned your authority on the bridge.”

Jim lifts his other hand to cup Spock’s chin, tilting it up. “You know you’re my first choice,” Jim says imploringly, their lips almost brushing. “But even if you’re qualified, if I always put you in charge when I’m gone, people will think... they’ll think it’s just because we’re dating, and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

Spock’s eyebrows knit together, like he can’t fathom what Jim’s saying. Slowly, he says, “That would be an illogical assumption given my rank and position, before our relationship even—”

“Humans aren’t always logical, remember?” Jim quirks a little smile at Spock’s naivety. He pecks the corner of Spock’s lips even though he’s not sure they’re done talking, just because he can’t resist. 

Spock’s eyes go half-lidded, and he mumbles, “...Are you truly stealing my sweater?”

Leaning his forehead against Spock’s, Jim can’t help but laugh. Only Spock would think that. Jim’s tempted to ask for it. Instead, he shakes his head, reaching up to grasp both sides of Spock’s face and pull him in for a longer, deeper kiss. After all the lashing their tongues have been used for, it’s nice to feel them in harmony. Spock’s feels so soft like this, so warm and loving.

They kiss slowly and tenderly, exploring and apologetic. It’s like they’ve wounded each other’s mouths and want to kiss it better. When Jim pulls back, he sighs and murmurs, “I just wanted to show you that I love your Vulcan side, despite the stupid shit I said.” And also, he loves that smell. 

Spock nods like he understands and says, “I apologize for my comments about your mind.”

“Hey, I almost threw away a great boyfriend; I might’ve been out of my mind.” Jim laughs and lifts up on his toes to kiss Spock’s forehead, and then he’s turning them around. He tugs them gently across the floor, able to walk backwards with how clean it is—something that can’t be done in his quarters. Spock follows, hand in his. 

“You were never in danger of losing me,” Spock assures him. “Unless you were thinking of ending it yourself.”

“Never,” Jim mumbles, shutting Spock up with another kiss, and then another, and then another, until he feels his knees hit the back of the bed and he’s stumbling down, pulling Spock on top of him. He reattaches their lips as Spock scoops him up by the waist and rearranges him, and Jim tries to help, keeping their mouths connected whenever possible, until his head’s in the pillows. Spock lands beside him, their legs instantly tangling around each other and their hands everywhere, checking everything they put in jeopardy to make sure it’s all there and _theirs_.

They’re kissing frantically and pulling at clothes, and as soon as Spock’s shirt is over his head, Jim purrs into his collarbone before licking it, “I’m sorry for what I said about your blood. I love that it’s green. I do. You know I’ve got a thing for aliens.” His voice gets more and more husky as he licks his way up Spock’s throat, reaching Spock’s chin and nipping his way to Spock’s lips, tugging at the bottom one with his teeth. Spock’s cheeks are flushing, and Jim chuckles and shifts to kiss them, one at a time, making Spock’s lashes flutter down. That’s just what he means. He even loves Spock’s silly, straight cut bangs and Spock’s tilted eyebrows, and he kisses his way up to them to show it. 

Spock’s tugging at the bottom of Jim’s sweater—Spock’s sweater—bunching it and the black undershirt up at once. Jim pulls back to let them be pulled over his head, tossed aside. Spock says fiercely, “I love the way you look in Vulcan clothes.” He kisses Jim so hard that it takes Jim a minute to pull back. 

Jim needs to say, “I know.” He’s making out and fiddling with Spock’s fly, and Spock’s doing the same to him. Jim shifts his head to lick up Spock’s jaw to his ear, nibbling the shell and hissing into it, “I only call you ‘pointy’ because I _love_ your ears; they get me so hard...”

Spock mumbles, voice compromised, “That does not make any sense...”

“They’re gorgeous,” Jim growls. He stops tugging at Spock’s pants to push his own down his hips, kicking them off while Spock does the same, underwear going the same way, until nothing’s left, just the two of them, and Jim’s back to biting and sucking at Spock’s ear, licking all over it and paying extra attention to the tip. “They’re so sexy; you have no idea what you do to me.” Jim grabs one of Spock’s wrists and holds it over his crotch, forcing a moan out of Spock and putting on display exactly what Spock does to him. He’s hard as a rock, and he can feel Spock’s dick against his stomach, just as rigid. Jim’s other hand is running along Spock’s smooth chest, the two fingers together, the Vulcan caress. He rubs Spock’s nipples, one at a time, and finally pulls his mouth back, ducking down to kiss Spock properly. 

It lasts for a few lovely moments, and then Spock’s skin is brushing his, mouth ghosting its way to Jim’s ear, tongue tracing the shell. Jim moans and jerks in Spock’s hands—Spock’s wrapped those long fingers around his shaft, not quite pumping, but enough to make him wild. Jim doesn’t need to hold him there anymore. Jim lifts his hand up to suck on his fingers, running them, wet, down Spock’s spine while Spock purrs into him, “I find your round ears just as pleasing.” Jim gasps when Spock nibbles the brim. Spock’s careful, but he makes it hurt just enough to get Jim excited. Jim slides his index finger into Spock’s crack, massaging the round globes of his ass with the other fingers. Spock lets out a long groan, leaning back into the touch. 

“I love your ass,” Jim moans, rubbing his finger around the tight, puckered hole. He can feel the muscles twitching in anticipation, longing for his cock. Spock lifts his hand to Jim’s mouth, and Jim happily sucks at it, knowing exactly where it’s going. It pops out a moment later, shifting down Jim’s back. Jim eagerly leans his ass up into Spock’s fingers, wanting it filled. Then Spock’s blunt fingertip is tapping lightly at his hole, and he bites his lip as he pops his inside Spock’s. 

Spock exhales loudly, and Jim kisses his cheek, so, so grateful that Vulcans are self-lubricating. It’s awesome. “I love that your ass can do this,” Jim growls, feeling distinctly hungry. “It’s like it was made for me, like it wants me inside it...”

“I want you inside me,” Spock rasps: the perfect words in the perfect voice. “And I want to be in you...”

“I wish we could fuck each other at the same time,” Jim hisses. He’s pushing his finger further and further in, and Spock starts to pump his cock, hand dry. He can feel Spock’s tight channel sucking him in, starting to wet itself, getting ready, tingling with the wait. “But then, I’d probably blackout from that much pleasure.”

“You are so handsome,” Spock’s mumbling, nearly incoherently, as Jim gets knuckle deep and adds a second finger. “So beautiful.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Jim repeats. “I love every part of you. I love you _so much_.” He needs to fuck Spock _right_ now, because he thinks he’s going to burst just from how much he _adores_ Spock with every fibre of his being. He could lie like this forever, and he could probably be hard for half of it, but not all at once. He tries to slow himself down, tries to make it last. He scissors Spock open, then decides that’s enough—Spock’s always ready for him, anyway. Spock’s delicious alien ass will open right up for him, get nice and wet for him, suck him in and squeeze him tight. If he had the patience, he’d kiss his way down and rim Spock to orgasm, but right now he needs something more solid. He needs to be fully sheathed in Spock. 

He rolls over on top of Spock, grabbing Spock’s legs and pushing them back. Spock helpfully wraps them around Jim’s torso, holding his own cock out of the way. “I love your cock,” Jim mumbles. “Every green vein, every yellowish ridge, every smooth centimeter.”

“I find your dick just as intoxicating,” Spock answers, and Jim grins, because even in that halting, awkward way of talking Spock has, it’s ridiculously cute. Jim holds his shaft and lines himself up, staring down at the little pink hole stretched to take him. Then he pushes inside, as far in as he can, loving how Spock takes it. Spock’s eyes screw up, mouth opening, head tilting back, body arching up, thighs tensing around Jim’s sides. Spock’s hole is tight, so tight, like it always is, but Jim slides right in like he’s supposed to be there. He can feel Spock’s insides pulsing around him, burning hot and silky smooth. He slides right in to the base, slow and steady. 

Then he pulls back and pushes in again, groaning loudly. His elbows brace himself on either side of Spock’s face, lips trying to brush but often breaking apart in moans or gasps. He can feel the heels of Spock’s feet digging into his lower back, feel Spock’s heart beating rapidly against his side. Spock’s breath is quick against his face. Spock’s legs help guide him in, let him out. He tries to rock into Spock slowly and sensually, but he quickly winds up fucking as hard as he always does, needing the contact and the rough skin-on-skin. He pounds into his lover and smashes their lips together, and his hands slide to run down Spock’s arms, fingers wrapping around each other. 

For a moment, they’re just like that, fucking and kissing and feeling. But Spock’s fingers inevitably slip away, and Jim knows why. He can feel Spock getting wet against his stomach, but he doesn’t have the wherewithal to do anything about it. So he just keeps going. Spock wraps his fingers around his cock, growing slick with an ample amount of precum: another form of self-lubrication. Spock spreads it all around his dick before reaching around to Jim’s bouncing ass, moving in the air too much to grab properly. Spock manages, somehow. Jim tries to still his hips, tries to just grind into Spock’s sweet spot, while Spock’s fingers find his hole again. Usually it’s one or the other, but today, it feels like they should take turns. Jim wants to share this. The lights are still fully on, and Jim doesn’t care. Jim lets Spock finger his hole, rubbing it until it opens enough for one fingertip to pop inside. 

It helps, at least, keep the impending orgasm back. Spock’s finger’s too wet to damage, too gentle to hurt, but there’s still a faint, sore, barely-there sting that takes the edge off. Jim lets himself feel it, lets himself rock between pleasure and the uncomfortable, wonderful sensation of being split open. Spock wriggles in to the knuckle, while Jim humps him as softly as possible. Jim’s aching for more and loving every second. 

When Spock gets to a second finger, prying Jim open, Jim starts to pant, “Hurry,” because he’s not sure how much longer he can last. Spock nods, fingers working faster. Jim’s stretched almost beyond his limits, forehead and nose scrunched and hips still moving. He can hear Spock’s breath hesitate, and he hisses, “Make love to me right now.”

Spock rolls them over instantly, so Jim’s on his back and looking up into clouded, dark eyes. Spock lifts his ass, and Jim slides out, a sick squelching sound following the movement and making him mewl. Spock’s legs untangle, shifting back, and Jim’s part around Spock’s torso, stuck up in the air. He tilts his head and kisses Spock while Spock lines them up, cock already wet with precum. As soon as the tip nudges at his hole, he shivers, wanting it in him right _now._

Spock obliges, always the perfect boyfriend. He slams right in, only part of the way, then starts to piston inside, and Jim’s writhing immediately. His cock’s still hard, still wet, between both their stomachs, but he doesn’t touch it—doesn’t need to. He had his turn. Now he’s running his fingers along Spock’s back, up the back of Spock’s neck, tangling in Spock’s hair. Spock’s touching Jim’s sides, touching his shoulders, holding onto his hips. Spock has more control, even like this, even though his face is awash with ecstasy. He slides in and out at a maddeningly slow pace, finally fully inside, only to disappear again. He kisses Jim hard, so Jim can’t protest. Jim kisses back, in heaven. 

He wishes they could do this forever. Keep swapping, back and forth, forget stupid half-shifts and shifts in general; couldn’t they just be like this? He doesn’t want anything else. He thought he wanted a starship, but it was _Spock_ he was looking for. Spock parts their lips to breathe better—they’re both panting, shuddering wrecks. Jim nuzzles into the side of Spock’s face and murmurs, “ _I love you so, so much._ ”

“ _I love you as well_ ,” Spock mumbles right back, permanently endearing. Everything he does puts a grin on Jim’s face, until Jim’s cheeks are burning and his eyelids are heavy and his eyes are clouded and his head’s foggy and useless, skin prickling with need and desire. Spock’s all over him, rocking into him. He holds Spock too tight, and then it’s too much, and he thinks he’s going to burst, but Spock does first. Spock hisses next to his ear, curled into him, contorting beautifully with the orgasm. He can feel Spock coming undone. His ass begins to fill with hot, sticky Vulcan cum, clinging to his insides and rocked in and out, slicking up his channel. Jim moans in delight, clenching around Spock’s pulsing cock and wanting to keep everything in. 

As soon as Spock’s done, he pulls out, and he rolls off Jim, onto his side, facing away. Jim spoons him and slips into him immediately, seconds from coming. Spock’s panting, and Jim just holds onto him. Jim fucks Spock fast and hard, until his balls are tightening and he’s seeing white. Then he’s spilling into Spock’s perfect ass, fucking it out and kissing Spock’s cheek and the back of his neck, holding onto his chest. 

Jim takes a second when he’s done, then slips out, letting go. He wants to collapse, but he doesn’t. He stays on his side. Spock rolls over, facing him. They cuddle up to each other, spent and satiated and sweaty, the room full of their musk and their thighs re-tangling together. Jim rubs his nose into Spock’s, feeling something like a tribble, unable to do anything but nuzzle and coo. 

Spock’s smiling: a rare thing. That smile isn’t easy to achieve, and it doesn’t come out for just anyone. Jim appreciates it. He’s glowing. 

He sighs, “You’re captain whenever I’m gone. If we could both be captain, that’d be even better. You’d be the best co-captain ever.”

“Thank you, but I enjoy simply being your first officer. In your absence, I will defer to whoever you choose.”

Jim jabs his finger at Spock’s chest and laughs, “I choose you. Every time. For everything.”

“That is not necessary. Mr. Chekov was actually a surprisingly decent acting captain.”

Smirking, Jim resists the urge to say, ‘I told you so.’ Instead, he tilts to kiss Spock again, making a mental note to apologize to Chekov in the morning.


End file.
